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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25739611">a bird in the hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostcribs/pseuds/ghostcribs'>ghostcribs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, More tags to be added, Sickfic, The usual for me, Vomiting, a few mentions of blood, infected wound, soft summer boys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:22:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25739611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostcribs/pseuds/ghostcribs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your journeys can get dangerous, can’t they, Snufkin.” It’s not so much a question as a statement.</p><p>For all the times they’ve faced danger together, Moomin had never seriously considered what kinds of perils his friend must encounter on his own. Snufkin is so capable, so wise and clever, and never returns to Moominvalley worse for wear. But Moomin knows that exposure can be very, very dangerous, even more so than a wolf or a goblin or any manner of creature. It’s very odd to think about Snufkin facing anything and not coming out on top, but the elements can be tremendously cruel and unforgiving, even for someone so experienced. And if you’re on your own, with no one around to help you when things get dire…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It’s me, back on my bullshit, this time with poor Snufkin. Has this fic been written ten times already? Yeah. Is that stopping me from putting another one out there? Obviously, no. </p><p>It quickly became apparent that this would do best split into multiple chapters, the first couple I have written already. The chapter count may change, but I’m anticipating four parts. We’ll see!</p><p>Anyway, I’m having a wonderful time writing this and I hope you have a wonderful time reading it as well :) Thanks for checking it out!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m going away for a little while.”</p><p>The words are profoundly familiar. If Moomin had a coin for every time he’s heard them, he could make more wishes than a simple creature like him could ever need. Save for, of course, wishing that the words had never been spoken in the first place. One would think it would get easier, when something is repeated so often, but the effect is exactly the opposite, as it turns out. It’s like a knife being twisted deeper and deeper into his heart every time.</p><p>“Oh,” he says, unsurprised but feeling that familiar heaviness in his stomach.</p><p>Snufkin leans back to lay down on the grassy bank, tipping his hat forward so only his mouth is visible beneath the brim. The stem between his teeth sways with the summer breeze. With his arms folded behind his head and one leg propped up on the other, he looks for all the world like he doesn’t know or care of the plight his words wreak in his companion. Much the same as always. “It won’t be for long. I’ll be back by the bonfire, I expect.”</p><p>At that, Moomin brightens a bit. “Oh, that’s only three days away. What are you going to do?”</p><p>“I owe someone a favor.”</p><p>Moomin perks up, smelling a story. “Who?”</p><p>“Someone I met last winter. A little robin.” As if sensing Moomin’s excitement at the prospect of an interesting tale, he tilts his head so Moomin can see the corner of his eye and smiles gently. “It’s not a very exciting story, I’m afraid. I’d run out of food on the road and they showed me where to find berries in exchange for a favor, but there wasn’t anything they needed at the moment so I told them where to find me when they did. It seems the time has come for me to make good on my promise.”</p><p>“The robin found you?”</p><p>“Yes, only yesterday.”</p><p>There’s a nagging inside Moomin, a tug at his heart. <em>Snufkin ran out of food.</em> Of course he knew it had to be perilous to travel on one’s own for months on end, but he had never given too much thought to the concept of Snufkin being in actual danger, even if it’s a passive danger like starvation. Maybe because Snufkin rarely mentions any sort of serious dangers in his tales, and if he does he never alludes to having trouble dealing with it, so Moomin has never thought there was any real reason to worry. Until now.</p><p>The unbidden thought of Snufkin, all alone and weak from hunger, is suddenly right at the fore of his mind. Oh, why hadn’t he ever thought of it before? He’s never wanted for food, even when the valley is in drought. Why hadn’t he ever considered the very real possibility that Snufkin’s rations might run out on his journeys?</p><p>“Do you…” He pauses, swallows, unsure whether to ask or not. In the end, though, he can’t stop himself. “Do you run out of food…often, Snufkin?”</p><p>“No, not really,” the mumrik answers easily. “There’s usually always something to eat. Fish, roots. I’ve eaten bugs before, when there was nothing else. That time, there was a lot of snow and the world was asleep. But the birds always know where to find food.”</p><p>For some reason, Moomin isn’t reassured. He doesn’t respond, the wheels in his head turning.</p><p>Snufkin looks up, then, pushing the brim of his hat all the way back. “Moomintroll? Is something troubling you?”</p><p>Moomin’s brow is furrowed. His tail twitches back and forth with thought. “Your journeys can get dangerous, can’t they, Snufkin.” It’s not so much a question as a statement.</p><p>For all the times they’ve faced danger together, Moomin had never seriously considered what kinds of perils his friend must encounter on his own. Snufkin is so capable, so wise and clever, and never returns to Moominvalley worse for wear. But Moomin knows that exposure can be very, very dangerous, even more so than a wolf or a goblin or any manner of creature. It’s very odd to think about Snufkin facing anything and not coming out on top, but the elements can be tremendously cruel and unforgiving, even for someone so experienced. And if you’re on your own, with no one around to help you when things get dire…</p><p>“Oh, I suppose,” Snufkin says in his usual lazy manner. “But that’s part of the excitement of it. And I’ve yet to face any danger I couldn’t handle.”</p><p>Again, the words don’t ease Moomin’s worries. He knows he’s doing that thing he does sometimes, where he works himself up and gets increasingly more upset, but he can’t stop himself. “But—what if you run out of food and there aren’t any robins around to help you? What if there’s an earthquake and you fall into the ground and can’t get out and nobody knows where to find you? What if you get caught in a trap, or—”</p><p>“Moomintroll.” His voice is smooth and assured, like a balm. “If any of those things ever happen, I’ll figure it out when they do, not before. And I’ll find a way. I always do.”</p><p>His smile is warm, and his eyes even more so. Moomin has always marveled at how his smile alone can make anyone feel safe just by looking at it. It doesn’t completely assuage his current anxieties, but the confidence in his words and his posture does calm him a bit.</p><p>“I just worry about you, you know,” he mutters quietly.</p><p>Snufkin reaches out and places a paw on his knee. “I know, and that’s very kind of you. You have a big heart. But you needn’t worry. I’ll always be alright, and I’ll always return. I promise.”</p><p><em>That doesn’t seem like something you can promise</em>, Moomin thinks, but doesn’t say aloud.</p><p>“Now.” Snufkin stands and stretches his arms above his head before reaching one down to Moomin, palm open. “Let’s go fishing, hm?”</p>
<hr/><p>Snufkin leaves the next morning before the sun rises. He doesn’t tell Moomintroll when or where he’s going, but he does make sure to write a brief note and tuck it under the window on the sill. It’s more courtesy than he usually gives whenever he up and leaves suddenly during the spring and summer months, but Moomintroll had seemed unusually worried yesterday. Separation sadness, Snufkin sees in his friend every time he leaves. But this worry is something fairly new, and it hurts Snufkin’s heart a little.</p><p>What he didn’t tell Moomintroll yesterday was that there have been a handful of close calls on his adventures, closer than he’s comfortable admitting. He’s never been one to fear for his life, but perhaps that’s because he’s never come a hair away from losing it. Or, no times that he was aware of it. His close calls fall more in the category of going days and days without eating or drinking, or very nearly losing his footholds when climbing cliffs. He’s faced dangerous beasts, but those times weren’t as frightening as the times he’d wake up midday and realize he didn’t have the strength to pack up his camp, with his stomach a yawning, aching cavern and his mouth as dry as the riverbed in summer.</p><p>But he’s still never felt like his life was truly in danger. As he’d told Moomintroll, he always finds some way to overcome any difficulty he encounters. No matter how bleak things may look, there’s always a way to get through it if one is determined enough, be it one’s own cleverness or a helping hand from a kind soul or even the universe itself.</p><p>So Snufkin is never really worried. And there’s no reason for Moomintroll or any of his friends to be worried either.</p><p>He hefts his pack up his shoulders as he crosses the bridge just as twilight starts to wash the sky with periwinkle. He lifts his face to the breeze and lets the last of the stars shine in his eyes before blinking out for another day. There’s a good feeling in his bones and it makes his body light. He gives one last glance over his shoulder at Moominhouse and thinks, <em>I’ll see you soon, my friend. </em></p><p>It’s about a day’s journey to the robin’s home. When their paths had first crossed, it was on the way back to Moominvalley from the south and Snufkin had been roughly a week out. The snow had still blanketed the ground, but he had been sure it would be mostly gone by the time he reached home. The robin had found him foraging and they’d travelled together for a ways, until the little bird had branched off to go to their own home.</p><p><em>I’m building my nest not too far from Moominvalley, </em>they’d twittered excitedly. <em>When I need my favor, I’ll come find you there. </em></p><p>Snufkin wasn’t surprised to find them perched on his tent-line two days ago. The favor, it turned out, was retrieving a very important piece of cloth from a hawk’s nest that the robin was too scared to venture to.</p><p> <em>Why aren’t you brave enough to fetch it yourself, if it’s so important? </em>he’d asked.</p><p>
  <em>I’m just a small bird. If the hawk saw me, I’d be hunted and eaten. He won’t threaten a big mumrik like you. </em>
</p><p>Snufkin made a face, but didn’t mention he was actually a rather small creature himself. Birds couldn’t be expected to know the difference.</p><p>The robin seemed very set on this being the returned favor. Snufkin supposes it’s a good favor. He didn’t ask why the cloth was so important, since the bird’s business is their own, but he is curious and hopes that they might tell him later on.</p><p>The sun rises fully, then moves to the top of the sky, and then slowly starts to set. It’s midsummer so Snufkin sweats as he walks, but he’s quite glad for the travel. Even though the trip won’t take long, it’s very relieving to have an excuse to be on his own for a little while and he relishes the mountain air and the quiet sounds of the forest.</p><p>He’s meant to meet the robin by a waterfall. He immediately knew the one when it was described and has no trouble finding it again. It’s a peaceful place, nestled in a pine grove at the base of a creek. When he reaches it, he shrugs his pack off and drops it in the grass.</p><p>“Little robin?” The call sounds irreverent in the quiet.</p><p>He gets no reply, so he sits down on the creek bank and pulls out his harmonica, which sounds much more in-tune with the peaceful atmosphere, and waits.</p><p>It’s just before sundown, when the shadows are long and most of the woods are dark, when the robin comes. Snufkin’s had time to pitch his tent and light his lantern. He’s just lighting his campfire to make supper when he hears a familiar trill.</p><p>
  <em>Snufkin! </em>
</p><p>“There you are, little bird,” he says, pulling out his cooking pot.</p><p>The robin flutters down and perches on his shoulder. <em>I was tending to my nest. I have chicks now, you know.</em></p><p>Snufkin smiles. “Congratulations! I’m sure it’s a very happy nest.”</p><p>
  <em>It will be even more so when we add the special ribbon to it. </em>
</p><p>“Well, tomorrow you’ll have it.”</p><p>
  <em>What are you doing now, Snufkin?</em>
</p><p>“Just preparing my dinner. I’ll need my strength if I’m to climb all the way up to a hawk’s nest.”</p><p>
  <em>I suppose you will. </em>
</p><p>The robin leaves soon after, with the promise of returning at first light. Snufkin tends to his fish and stew, has a nice supper, and goes to sleep in his tent.</p>
<hr/><p>“Oh, my. That’s quite a ways up, isn’t it?”</p><p>
  <em>Can you do it, Snufkin?</em>
</p><p>“Certainly. I can’t say how long it will take me, though.”</p><p>He’s standing at the base of a tall tree on a rocky cliff side, hat pushed back so he can see to the top. It’s a fitting tree for a hawk, and fortunately doesn’t look too difficult to climb. It’s just so <em>tall. </em>He can’t even see the nest from the ground.</p><p><em>I don’t think the hawk is around now, </em>the robin says. <em>But you never know when he’ll come back. </em></p><p>“I’ve never met a hawk before. Perhaps he isn’t so bad.”</p><p>The robin makes an amused chirp and ruffles their feathers. <em>Perhaps, but I wouldn’t count on it. </em></p><p>“Well, in any case, it shouldn’t be too much trouble. You’ll be on the lookout for me?”</p><p>
  <em>Of course. </em>
</p><p>He gives the bird a sideways look, mouth curling up a bit. “This is a lot of trouble for a scrap of cloth.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, but it’s very important! My mother used it in her nest! </em>
</p><p>“An heirloom, then? Well, I suppose the trouble is worth it in that case.” Birds, he’s found, are very sentimental. He isn’t surprised at the explanation.</p><p>He has a length of rope tied to his waist and a knife in his pocket and hopes he won’t need to use either. He’d rather not be weighed down by anything at all, but it’s probably best to be prepared.</p><p>The robin flits about impatiently on low branches while he takes his time stretching. He’s a good climber and isn’t afraid of heights, but he still wouldn’t fancy falling from such a height and he can’t say he’s particularly excited about potentially running into a hawk while stealing from his nest.</p><p>Finally, he spreads his feet and places his hands on his hips. “Well, better get started then if I want to be down in time for lunch.”</p><p><em>Good luck, Snufkin! </em>the robin titters.</p><p>Snufkin jumps up to grab the lowest branch and begins his climb. He’s climbed plenty of trees in his life, and this one is no different. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t look down, and focuses only on getting up on the next bough. It’s been a while since he’s done anything like this, but his body hasn’t forgotten how. He swings himself lithely from branch to branch, his movements swift and sure. Soon he can feel the crisp mountain breeze whistling past his face and knows he must be getting pretty high. The only things in his periphery are other trees and the blue sky. He still can’t see the nest, but he must be getting close.</p><p>The robin naturally didn’t want to come with him. On one hand, he’s glad he’s not being watched, but on the other… It would be sort of nice to have company to keep his mind off of what he’s doing. Just to make the time go by faster.</p><p>By the time the nest comes into view, he can admit he’s getting a little tired. The strength is beginning to leave his arms and legs.</p><p><em>Not much farther now, </em>he tells himself. Soon this will be over, and he can go back home to Moomintroll and enjoy the summer bonfire.</p><p>The nest, when he finally reaches it, is a <em>lot </em>bigger than he thought it would be. It’s nestled snugly in the topmost branches of the tree, and is almost taller than Snufkin is. He stops when he’s under it, studying the layout carefully to determine the best way to get in. He ignores the twinge of guilt in his gut saying that this is someone’s home he’s about to break into, and reminds himself that he <em>is </em>retrieving something that was stolen.</p><p>He grips one of the boughs supporting the nest and pulls himself up, finding footholds on two smaller branches that aren’t extremely sturdy, but hold his weight. It’s then that he gets a good sense of just how <em>high up </em>he is. It’s enough to make him dizzy for a moment, seeing the forest and valley stretched out below him. His heart beats a little faster. A fall from this height would certainly be fatal—Snufkin shakes his head. <em>Can’t think about that now.</em></p><p>After a bit of thinking and testing, he maneuvers himself up far enough to get a hold on the side of the nest. The structure is made of tightly woven twigs and pine needles and isn’t the easiest thing to hold onto, but he digs in his claws and ignores the wood poking his palms. From there, he’s able to get his feet up and finally pulls himself into the nest.</p><p>He almost lands on a clutch of eggs. It’s a near thing, but he just manages to catch himself before his boots fall on speckled eggshells. Gripping the edge of the nest tightly, he heaves a sigh of relief. He’s glad the chicks aren’t hatched since they’d make a racket at his presence, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he stepped on an egg.</p><p>Without wasting any more time, he scans the nest with shrewd eyes. It shouldn’t be hard to spot—</p><p><em>There. </em>A flash of blue among the gray-brown of the twigs, tucked down with obvious care in the nest’s wall just off to his right. He skirts around the edge carefully but dexterously, and reaches for it as soon as it’s within arm’s length. He tugs it free, mindful of any snagging, and ties it around his wrist.</p><p>A sense of triumph builds in his chest, but he doesn’t let it get too big. He still has to get down again safely first. Fortunately, though, getting down is a lot easier than going up. His dexterous build makes descending through the tree limbs almost effortless.</p><p>He’s not yet halfway down when he hears it—a loud, piercing shriek shattering the quiet of the woods. His head snaps up and he sees a large shape diving towards him from above at an alarming speed.</p><p><em>The hawk. </em>Snufkin curses under his breath and tugs his sleeve up to cover the ribbon, continuing his climb down as fast as he possibly can. But he’s no match for the hawk’s speed. It screeches again, loud enough to make Snufkin want to cover his ears.</p><p><em>Intruder, </em>the raptor booms.<em> What are you doing in my tree?</em></p><p>“I was traveling and lost my way,” Snufkin lies easily. “The tree is so tall, I thought I’d be able to find the road again if I climbed to the top.”</p><p><em>Liar! </em>The hawk dives at him, swooping through the branches despite his impressive wingspan. <em>Leave my nest alone, filthy mumrik!</em></p><p>Snufkin narrowly misses the pair of huge talons coming at him by swinging around the trunk. “There’s no need for that! I didn’t mean any harm!”</p><p>But the hawk is done talking, it seems. He lands on a branch, great wings still spread and flapping, and lunges at Snufkin with his beak. It barely catches the fabric of his coat and rips it a bit. Heart pounding, Snufkin hops down onto the next branch, and the next, aware of the huge bird following him relentlessly.</p><p>It’s in a moment when his footing falters as he swings down onto another limb that the hawk finally catches him. The talons close in front of his face and blinding pain makes his vision go red.</p><p>Snufkin panics. For a moment he feels completely paralyzed. His keen instincts have made it so there have not been many times in his life when he didn’t know what to do in a situation, but this is one of those times. Half his mind is screaming at him to <em>get away</em>, and the other half is telling him to stay put so he doesn’t fall. Adrenaline is masking the massive amount of pain he’s in somewhat, but he can’t see past the dizziness. Or perhaps the blood. Then the hawk screams again, and the voice telling him to run wins out. He all but lets go of the tree bough and slips downward blindly.</p><p>His boot lands on another branch—and it immediately snaps underneath the weight. He drops, and feels the jagged edge of the broken-off limb slice straight through his pants and into his thigh, tearing skin and muscle on his way down.</p><p>He’s unable to catch himself again. His body is at the mercy of both gravity and the tree and he might as well be a limp rag doll as he slams into branch after branch, unable to see or breathe or <em>think. </em>He isn’t sure how long it is until the tree finally lets him go. For what feels like a terrifyingly long time, he’s falling freely through the air.</p><p>Until his back hits the ground. The breath is knocked straight out of his lungs and everything goes dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The meat of the angst and the feeling are coming next chapter so just bear with me hahaha</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s the day of the summer bonfire, and there’s still been no sign of Snufkin. For three days, Moomin has been trying to distract himself by helping with the preparations for the party, running around tirelessly hanging lights in the trees and chopping wood and taste-testing Mama’s cooking, but it’s still felt like a very long three days. And then today, he’s spent all morning at the bridge, waiting. Any second now, he’s convinced he’ll see a green felt hat amongst the trees and hear the crisp, clear notes of a harmonica, but his confidence is wavering with every hour that passes.</p><p>This wouldn’t really come as a surprise but for the fact that Snufkin had promised he would return. And while it’s true that he didn’t exactly specify he would definitely be back today, Moomin really had expected him to be. Maybe that’s his own fault. Maybe Snufkin had got caught up with his errand, or suddenly fancied more time away than he had counted on. It wouldn’t be the first time.</p><p>Moomin sighs heavily. He really should stop letting his hopes get so high.</p><p>But then, there’s still that worried voice in his head whispering, <em>Maybe he’s in trouble. </em></p><p>He shakes his head at that. Snufkin is never in trouble, and he’d said so himself that he always finds his way out of it. Moomin is just worrying needlessly. He has every confidence in Snufkin’s ability to take care of himself. And Snufkin would probably be offended at the notion that there would ever be an instance where he couldn’t.</p><p>Moomin really shouldn’t mope about. There’s still last-minute work to be done, and sitting around waiting won’t make his friend come back any faster.</p><p>With no small amount of reluctance, he stands and makes his way back to Moominhouse, feet dragging and tail drooping sadly behind.</p><hr/><p>Moominmamma’s fruit pies help to lighten his mood a little. She lets him lick the filling off the spatula and sample some of the crust, and his former excitement for the party rekindles.</p><p>“It’s really too bad,” Mama says as she pulls a pie from the oven and adds it to the table of prepared food. “I know parties aren’t Snufkin’s favorite, but I’m sure he would’ve had a good time.”</p><p>“For a little while, anyway.” Moomin doesn’t quite manage to hide the sadness in the words, recalling images of a full cup sitting on a hay bale with no one to drink its contents. He really was looking forward to spending the evening with Snufkin. Laughing and singing…perhaps even dancing. And if the mumrik had wanted to leave early, Moomin would’ve understood. They could have even snuck away together to go lay in a field under the stars, just the two of them…</p><p>The funny feeling in his stomach comes back, then. He’d been experiencing it recently and he’s not sure what it means. It comes at random times, but it’s always around Snufkin. When he laughs, or stares off quietly into the distance thinking about something wistfully, or plays his harmonica, or says Moomin’s name in his soft, smooth voice—but it’s most noticeable when they’re alone together. Moomin isn’t sure whether he should ask his parents about it or not. It’s not a sick feeling. It’s actually quite pleasant, or…maybe thrilling is a better word. Whatever it is, it’s only getting worse as time goes on.</p><p>For now, he’s resolved to keep it to himself. Better to try to figure it out on his own first.</p><p>“Don’t worry, dear.” Mama removes an oven mitt and ruffles his fur gently. “Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s having a nice time. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”</p><p>Moomin grunts noncommittally.</p><p>“Now, today isn’t a day for sadness. Help me get all the dishes ready, will you?”</p><p>The party preparations continue, and Moomin helps however he can. He ends up spending most of the time more or less babysitting Sniff and Little My, ensuring that neither of them gets into the food until it’s time. If anyone notices him sneaking frequent glances at the woods, no one mentions it. Everyone is in high spirits, completely wrapped up in excitement for the bonfire.</p><p>The sun makes its way across the sky. They don’t eat a typical lunch that afternoon, instead opting to snack here and there so as not to ruin appetites before the big supper they’re all to have. Moominpappa works with Mr. Hemulen and Muskrat to ensure the seating and stage and fire pit are all set, and Mrs. Fillyjonk and her nieces assist Moominmamma with the cooking. Moomin, Snorkmaiden, Sniff, and Little My are in charge of the last-minute decorations.</p><p>“A little to the left,” Little My instructs, hands on her hips and head cocked in an authoritative manner.</p><p>“It’s already to the left!” Sniff says, his arms reaching just about as high as they’ll go.</p><p>“Well, it needs to be <em>more </em>to the left!”</p><p>Moomin strains underneath Sniff’s weight on his shoulders. “Just hurry up and nail it in, will you! I’m sure it looks fine!”</p><p>“I think it’s fine, My,” Snorkmaiden affirms.</p><p>Behind him, Little My huffs. “I suppose it’ll do. Alright, nail ‘er in!”</p><p>The sound of the hammer on the nail rings through the air twice before stopping. “Wait.”</p><p>Moomin groans dramatically. Sniff is getting very heavy and he isn’t sure how much longer he’ll hold under his weight. “Come on, Sniff! The banner just needs to be <em>up</em>, it doesn’t need to be perfect!”</p><p>“No, I mean—I think I see Snufkin!”</p><p>“What?” Moomin whirls around without thinking, barely noticing Sniff tumbling from his shoulders and into the grass with a grunt.</p><p>“Moomintroll!” he whines.</p><p>But Moomin doesn’t hear him. His eyes are fixated on the path by the bridge. He can’t see anything yet, but any swaying branch might be his best friend making his way back to them. “Are you sure it was him?”</p><p>Sniff sits up, rubbing at his backside irritably. “Well, I’m pretty sure. I saw a red feather through the trees.”</p><p>It’s all Moomin needs to hear before he’s sprinting off down the beaten dirt road. His friends are calling after him, but he doesn’t pay attention. He has to know if it is indeed Snufkin returning at last. His feet stop on the bridge and he cranes his neck, trying to see through the foliage, listening for a harmonica or footsteps or <em>anything</em>.</p><p>He waits for a few minutes before he hears something coming toward him—a pair of shuffling feet, it sounds like, accompanied by something thudding on the forest floor.</p><p>“Snufkin?” Moomin calls, unable to keep the hope from his voice. It certainly doesn’t sound like Snufkin, but…</p><p>And then he sees him coming slowly down the path, the green of his coat brighter than the leaves.</p><p>“Snufkin!” Moomin can’t help it; he runs toward his friend, relief and utter joy mingling together to warm his insides like the sun itself. “Oh, I was so worried you wouldn’t make it in time for—”</p><p>Moomin suddenly stops short, because as soon as Snufkin’s in full view it’s so painfully clear how things are <em>not right. </em></p><p>Snufkin is hunched over, head lowered so the brim of his hat hides his face, and he’s leaning heavily on a thick branch like a crutch. His steps are uneven and faltering. And upon closer inspection, Moomin sees how dirty and torn his clothes are—far more than what is normal. Like a great beast had chewed him up and spat him back out.</p><p>Fear washes cold through Moomin, chasing away that warmth immediately. He’s <em>never </em>seen Snufkin look like this. Gone is his easy confidence, his spry gate, his self-assured, lackadaisical manner, and in place of that is this defeated, beaten, <em>wounded </em>creature that Moomin is wholly unfamiliar with.</p><p>His stomach clenches painfully and his fur stands all on end. “Snufkin…” His voice is almost breathless. He takes a few hesitant steps forward. “What…?”</p><p>Snufkin stops before the bridge and puts a paw up, effectively halting Moomin in his advance. “It’s alright, Moomintroll,” he says, and his voice sounds tired but like he’s trying very hard to make it sound normal. “There’s no need to worry. Everything is fine.”</p><p>“What? No, Snufkin—” Moomin crosses the remainder of space between them, heart racing in his chest. “What <em>happened </em>to you?”</p><p>“Nothing, Moomintroll.” Snufkin sounds so weary, like this is the last thing on earth he wants to discuss, which probably isn’t far from the truth. “Just a bit of trouble. I’m fine.”</p><p>“It doesn’t look like just a <em>bit </em>of trouble.”</p><p>Now that he’s closer, Moomin notices other things that make his blood feel like ice in his veins. There’s staining on Snufkin’s scarf, coat, and pants and with dawning horror, Moomin recognizes it as blood. Some of it looks old, but some looks fresh. And Snufkin has yet to look up at him. He’s always had a habit of keeping the brim of his hat low, but right now Moomin has no doubt that he’s deliberately hiding his face from view. That, and the fact that he’s still leaning heavily on his tree branch like it’s the only thing keeping him upright has Moomin’s head spinning with worry.</p><p>“Leave it, Moomintroll. Please.”</p><p>“I can’t do that.” He keeps his voice soft, his body language relaxed despite how tense he feels. He doesn’t normally refuse Snufkin’s requests, but this seems like a matter too urgent to let alone. “You obviously need help, Snufkin.”</p><p>The mumrik sighs softly, the rigidity draining from his stance.</p><p>“Look at me?”</p><p>His grip noticeably tightens on the walking stick. And then, slowly, he raises his head almost as if in shame.</p><p>Moomin’s breath catches in his throat.</p><p>Angry red wounds run diagonally across the mumrik’s face, from his forehead to just below his nose. His left eye is red and a bit swollen, but at least it doesn’t seem like the wound cuts into the eye itself. They appear to have stopped bleeding for the most part, however obvious it is that they have done a fair share of bleeding. There’s still some smudged on his cheek.</p><p>“Oh, Snufkin,” Moomin breathes. “What happened?”</p><p>Snufkin gives a huff of a laugh, entirely humorless. “Just a silly thing. I really am okay, I promise.”</p><p>Before he can think about what he’s doing, Moomin reaches out a paw and gently cups Snufkin’s cheek. “It doesn’t seem like a silly thing. It looks like someone hurt you.” Oh, his heart aches at that thought.</p><p>Snufkin reaches up to pull Moomin’s arm down gently. “Moomintroll.” His tone makes it clear that he really wants to drop the matter.</p><p>Moomin’s chest feels like it’s truly caving in now. He can’t stand the thought that Snufkin doesn’t want to tell him what happened, almost as much as he can’t stand the thought that someone had <em>done this </em>to him. More than anything, he wishes the mumrik would trust him enough to confide in him. He probably just doesn’t want Moomin to worry, but Moomin hates how he shuts him out sometimes. He longs for Snufkin to lower his walls and let him in.</p><p>But now isn’t the time to dwell on it. He sighs heavily. “Come with me to the house. Mama will get you patched up properly.”</p><p>Snufkin looks nervous. “Let me pitch my tent first. I’ll be along.”</p><p>It’s clear that he needs time to collect himself before facing everyone. Moomin can grant him that. “Alright, but don’t be too long or I’ll have to come looking for you.”</p><p>He nods, and Moomin makes his way back over the bridge. Once he’s halfway up the hill, he glances over his shoulder inconspicuously. He sees Snufkin setting down his pack and easing himself onto one of the logs that always sit at the campsite. Worry flares in his stomach again. Snufkin is definitely hiding the severity of his injuries.</p><p>But if anyone can take care of him, Moominmamma can. He reassures himself of that as he goes to join his friends once more. Snufkin is home now, and despite how much detail about his little adventure he wants to share, he’s with his family again. He’s safe.</p><hr/><p>A large part of Snufkin regrets returning to Moominvalley so soon. He had really wanted to hole up somewhere until the worst of his injuries had healed.</p><p>But a larger part of him…really didn’t want to disappoint Moomintroll. It’s not the first time he’s been injured on his travels, and he’s always been careful to keep that part hidden from everyone here. This time, though, his feet seemed to be taking him back to the valley before his mind had any say over the matter. In his heart, he knows it’s because he couldn’t break Moomintroll’s heart like that. Not in the summertime, when they’re supposed to be together.</p><p>Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let him fuss a bit. It’s not like his wounds are all that grievous, anyway. A bit of salve and some bandages are all there is to be done for them.</p><p>He just can’t let on how much pain they’re causing him. His face hurts tremendously; he can’t smile or frown or raise his eyebrows without his skin feeling like it’s being peeled open. But worse than that is the gash in his leg. It’s been giving him endless agony since he came to dazed and confused at the base of the hawk’s tree, apparently a few minutes after falling out of it, according to the little robin. He’d bandaged it clumsily, but it took a long time to stop bleeding, and it was so bruised that he limped heavily with the pain. He would never have returned to Moominhouse using a crutch if he could help it.</p><p>As it is, he’s not planning on revealing that particular injury. He has his bruised ribs to blame the use of the crutch on, should he be asked, or perhaps the slight concussion. The leg wound is something he’ll be able to keep hidden, and for some reason that feels very important to him. Like he can at least have a little control over the situation, to have something he can take care of himself without anyone trying to force their will onto. He’d already stitched up his pants, and as bloodstained as the rest of his clothes are, the Moomins aren’t likely to notice.</p><p>He rests on the log for a good while longer than he meant. He’s feeling rather weak—truthfully, it’s kind of a miracle he made it back to the valley so soon after the fall—and he really doesn’t want to go to the trouble of pitching his tent right now. But eventually he does anyway, because the thought of going to Moominhouse or the bonfire without having his tent to retreat to later is quite unsettling. He never feels truly comfortable in Moominvalley without his campsite all set.</p><p>He’s unsurprised when a little face pops up from behind the tent wall. “What on earth happened to you?”</p><p>Snufkin sighs dramatically. “Hello, Little My.”</p><p>The small mymble hops up onto the opposite log and saunters towards him with her arms behind her back. “What’d you do, run into a bramble-bush?”</p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>“Really, you look dreadful. Didn’t think you were one for being careless.”</p><p>Snufkin finishes tightening the tent-line and limps over to the other log, sitting down hard. “Your concern is touching.”</p><p>She sits too, kicking her feet against the wood. “Honestly. You should have that properly seen to before it turns septic. Who’d you piss on, anyway?”</p><p>He shoots her a glare, but he’s too tired to put much effort behind it.</p><p>“I won’t tell anyone. Swear.”</p><p>Snufkin sighs again. He doesn’t take Little My’s promises to really mean anything, but it isn’t like the others won’t find out eventually anyway. “A hawk. He’d stolen something from a friend of mine.”</p><p>“Ooh, how brave. Snufkin the hero, eh?”</p><p>“Hardly.” He reaches up to run a gentle paw over his sore rib cage. “It was a debt I had to pay.”</p><p>Little My regards him thoughtfully for a moment, and not for the first time he feels almost vulnerable under her sharp gaze. His sister, while full of piss and vinegar, is too keen sometimes. “Well, so long as you don’t get yourself killed. You have other promises to keep.” She hops down and walks off like she’d just been taking a leisurely stroll, waving a paw dismissively.</p><p>He doesn’t call after her. He sits in silence once more, nursing a new pit in his stomach.</p><hr/><p>The front door swings open slowly and is followed by a <em>thunk </em>on the wooden floor.</p><p>“Snufkin!” Moomin pushes his chair away from the table. “Mama, Snufkin’s here!”</p><p>Moominmamma smiles, wiping her paws on her apron. “Bring him in here. I’ll get the first aid kit.”</p><p>Moomin rushes through the doorway. He isn’t sure that he actually expected Snufkin to show up, but is tremendously relieved that he has. He’d told Mama what happened, and she’d paused in the party preparations to help. It’s getting later on in the afternoon and soon the bonfire will start, but Moomin can’t bring himself to care all that much. He will once Snufkin is tended to.</p><p>He just hopes the mumrik won’t disappear again.</p><p>He’s standing in the living room looking like he’d rather be elsewhere, his hat pulled low again, the crutch tucked under his arm. He looks even more hunched into himself, and Moomin hopes it’s from the embarrassment of being seen by undoubtedly everyone he had to pass on the way in rather than pain.</p><p>“Snufkin,” Moomin says, moving quickly to his side. “Come into the kitchen.”</p><p>Snufkin waves off his proffered paw politely and Moomin trails behind him as he makes his way there, much more slowly than he’s ever moved before.</p><p>Mama gestures to a chair when they get there and Snufkin sits with visible difficulty. He doesn’t protest when she removes his hat and sets it on the table or resist when she gently lifts his chin up.</p><p>“Oh, my.” Her eyes well with concern at the sight of the ghastly wounds on his face. “Whatever happened, dear?”</p><p>Snufkin shoots an uneasy glance at Moomin. “I just… I had a bit of trouble with a hawk.”</p><p>“A hawk?”</p><p>Moomin frowns. So someone <em>had </em>hurt him, as he’d thought.</p><p>“And I…fell. From a tree.”</p><p>“Goodness.” Mama’s exclamation is soft and gentle, like everything she does, but Moomin picks up on the worry in her tone. She doesn’t ask about the details of the encounter, though he wishes she would. Snufkin might tell her. “Well, let me see what I can do.”</p><p>Moomin watches anxiously as she takes tweezers and a cotton ball and dips it in ointment. Snufkin hisses when it’s touched to his wounds, but doesn’t flinch away. Once cleaned, Mama dabs them softly with a cloth.</p><p>She looks ruefully at the basket of first aid supplies. “I’m afraid these wounds will be difficult to bandage, so just make sure to keep them very clean.”</p><p>Snufkin nods.</p><p>“Now, what else is ailing you, dear?”</p><p>Snufkin’s paws tangle themselves in his scarf. It’s a rare sight indeed to see him act small or unsure or anxious and only makes the ball of worry in Moomin’s stomach grow. “My head, I think. And some bruised ribs.”</p><p>Moominmamma hums. “Would you mind if I felt around your hair a bit?”</p><p>“Go ahead.”</p><p>She expertly combs her fingers through his auburn hair, feeling his scalp delicately, until she comes across a spot on the side above his ear that makes him wince.</p><p>“Hmm. There is a bit of swelling. Have you been experiencing any dizziness or nausea?”</p><p>“A bit, but it’s mostly passed.”</p><p>“There shouldn’t be too much reason to worry, then. I’ll get you a compress to help with the swelling.”</p><p>She fetches it from the icebox and Snufkin accepts it with a quiet <em>thank you </em>before pressing it tenderly to his head.</p><p>“I’d like to check your ribs as well, Snufkin, if you don’t mind,” Mama says in the most polite way anyone could muster. “Just to make certain nothing’s broken.”</p><p>Snufkin looks rather uncomfortable, but not even he can say no to Moominmamma when she’s looking at him with such loving concern. “I suppose…it’s alright.” He sets the compress down and lifts the hem of his smock just high enough to reveal the injured area.</p><p>Moomin can’t hold back a gasp at the sight.</p><p>Deep red-purple bruising mottles a significant portion of his left side like a rash. Just looking at it makes Moomin feel sympathy pains. And all throughout his torso, cuts and gashes litter the skin—what must be the results of his fall. How he managed to walk what Moomin can only assume would be nearly a day’s journey back to Moominvalley is astonishing.</p><p>“Oh, dear,” Mama sighs. “You’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you?”</p><p>“It’s not as bad as all that,” Snufkin replies easily.</p><p>Mama clicks her tongue, clearly not believing him but not pressing it. “Hold still for a moment. This might hurt a little.” She presses gently against the bruising, feeling carefully for anything that might give.</p><p>Snufkin grunts in pain and gasps a bit, and Moomin’s stomach does an uncomfortable somersault. He’s never seen the mumrik in any significant amount of pain before and it makes him feel very unsettled.</p><p>“Well, I think you’re right. Nothing appears to be broken. But do be extra careful until the bruising begins to fade, just in case.” Mama smears some ointment over the bruising and wraps the rib cage snugly with cloth bandages. “And I would also suggest you come by for the next few days to ice this and your head. It will help you heal faster.”</p><p>“Thank you, Moominmamma.” Snufkin quickly pulls his smock back down and adjusts his scarf.</p><p>“Of course, dear.” She tilts her head. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Would you like a cup of tea?” There’s something unspoken in her face, in the way she asks the questions. Almost like she’s really asking if Snufkin will allow her to take care of him.</p><p>Snufkin smiles tiredly. “Tea would be nice.”</p><p>Mama’s face lights up, and Moomin’s own heart feels a bit lighter. Snufkin’s injuries aren’t as severe as he’d feared, and the mumrik’s mood seems to be improving. Moomin half-expected him to run off prematurely from being smothered by care, but instead he seems…<em>grateful</em> for it. A small part of him would really like to know why he was so bristly earlier when it was just the two of them, but chalks it up to Moominmamma. Her presence is always like a balm to troubled spirits. And it makes sense that Snufkin would be closed off upon returning home injured, which has never happened before.</p><p>Moomin probably shouldn’t take it personally. He’s just glad Snufkin seems more at ease now.</p><p>They take their tea together with the rays of the late afternoon sun beaming through the windows. Moomin and Mama talk about the bonfire and all that still needs to be done, which isn’t much. The party will be starting soon.</p><p>“Are you coming, Snufkin?” Moomin asks eagerly.</p><p>Snufkin is leaning on the table, one paw holding the compress to his head and the other on the handle of his teacup. “I… Well, I suppose I could come for a bit.”</p><p>“Don’t push yourself, dear,” Mama says. “If you don’t feel up to it, everyone will understand.”</p><p>“No, I think it would be nice.” He smiles without showing his teeth, in a manner that Moomin isn’t entirely able to read. “Just for a little while.”</p><p>Moomin can’t help but let out a whoop of delight. “Oh, that’s grand! I’ll stay with you, Snufkin, in case you need anything. And when you want to leave, I’ll help you back to your tent.”</p><p>Snufkin smiles that same close-lipped smile again.</p><hr/><p>The bonfire is nice, as it always is. Moomintroll is true to his word and sticks by Snufkin’s side the whole time. Snufkin does not fail to notice the way he always asks someone else to get them drinks or food, but he can’t be sure if it’s because he doesn’t want him to be alone and vulnerable or because he’s worried that if he leaves, Snufkin won’t be there when he gets back. Both are reasonable concerns, he thinks.</p><p>Truthfully, he is feeling very smothered. The gashes on his face spurn a lot of unwanted attention and questions, and people keep throwing odd glances at him. He left his crutch behind and doesn’t really move from his seat, but it doesn’t do much to wave off the crowd’s curiosity. By now, the word that he’d returned to the valley terribly injured has spread amongst the party guests, and most of them are too nosy for their own good. He’d expected that, but it doesn’t make him feel any less uncomfortable.</p><p>Less than halfway through the night, he finds himself wishing he could melt into the scenery. Even Moomintroll’s presence is a bit suffocating with the constant hovering (though he’s largely glad for it). He had agreed to attend the party for his sake, mostly, since he knew the troll had been looking forward to it so much. His friend does his best to ward off the attention he’s been getting, which he’s grateful for, but it still doesn’t change the fact that he has very much become one of the main topics of interest that night.</p><p>When the dancing really starts in full swing, Snufkin realizes he has an excellent reason for excusing himself early. His body is throbbing—it has been for two days now, but it’s steadily been getting worse throughout the evening. His head, his chest, and especially his leg pulse with dull pain to the point that it makes him a little dizzy. The colorful lights blur into one another and the heat of the bonfire makes him feel like he can’t breathe.</p><p>Moomintroll is talking to Snorkmaiden and everyone else seems to be too busy dancing to pay him attention at the moment, so he drops his head into his paws and rubs at his temples. The music blares in his ears and everyone is talking and laughing so <em>loudly </em>and the heat is all-encompassing and he can feel the hay he’s sitting on poke him through his clothes and—</p><p>“Snufkin? Are you alright?” The voice is soft and gentle.</p><p>Snufkin raises his head again to see Moomintroll gazing at him with big, worried eyes. Snorkmaiden is nowhere in sight. “I think I need to go.”</p><p>Moomintroll nods immediately. “I’ll get your crutch.”</p><p>Snufkin ends up leaning more heavily on Moomintroll than on the crutch as they make their way together through the meadow. He really tries not to limp, but it hurts to put weight on the leg.</p><p>Moomintroll is silent and steady as they walk. For all his clinginess, he’s always been good at knowing what Snufkin needs at any given time, and his quiet support means more than anything else right now. Snufkin is a little sorry he couldn’t enjoy the bonfire very much. Three days alone would have at least emotionally prepared him for it.</p><p>When they reach his tent, Moomintroll carefully deposits him on the log and lights the hanging lantern without being told. Then he turns and fiddles with the burnt match for a moment before asking, “Are you okay, Snufkin?”</p><p>Snufkin removes his hat and looks down at his feet. “I’m just tired.”</p><p>“Perhaps you shouldn’t have come tonight.” Guilt hangs heavy in his words. “I should’ve known it would be too much for you.”</p><p>“It’s alright. I’m just sorry I’m not better company.”</p><p>Moomintroll takes a seat next to him. “Don’t feel sorry for that, Snufkin. You’re not feeling well. No one would expect you to be any different.”</p><p>Snufkin hums. He really hates this. He doesn’t want sympathy or attention.</p><p>“Are you in a lot of pain?”</p><p>He hesitates. He doesn’t want to say yes, because Moomintroll will worry even more and he doesn’t know if he can handle that. But… He can admit that it’s nice to feel like someone cares. It’s exhausting, sometimes, keeping his feelings to himself. And if he can’t be vulnerable with Moomintroll, then who else?</p><p>It’s exhausting, too, to have so many conflicting feelings at once. He isn’t sure which ones to listen to.</p><p>
  <em>I must have lost more blood than I thought. </em>
</p><p>Eventually, without really giving himself permission, he finds himself nodding. “A bit, I suppose.”</p><p>A white paw reaches out to cover his own where it’s resting on his knee. “It’s alright to admit you’re in pain, you know. You can trust me.” His tail flicks back and forth behind, a sure sign that something’s on his mind. “You can tell me things.”</p><p>Snufkin knows he’s referring to earlier, that he hadn’t told him what had happened on his trip. Part of him wants to—<em>really </em>wants to. But the bigger, instinctual part of him warns that it’s a bad idea. <em>He’ll just worry more. He’ll cling to you harder to keep you from leaving. He’ll think you’re weak. </em>Nothing good comes from being vulnerable. He’s learned that lesson more than once.</p><p>One thing he knows for certain is that he’s much too tired for this right now. He says, “I know,” and it immediately feels like a mistake.</p><p>Moomintroll frowns, looking sadder than anything else. But then he squeezes Snufkin’s paw and scoots in a hair closer. “Well, in any case, if there’s anything you need, just let me know. You know where I’ll be. And you know how Mama gets when people need things and don’t ask for them—I’m afraid she’d be rather offended.”</p><p>Snufkin smiles, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly sleepy. “Thank you, Moomintroll.”</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>Later he’ll blame it on being half-asleep and in pain, but it only feels natural to let himself sink against his friend and into the soft white fur. “For just…being you.”</p><p>The last thing he’s conscious of before falling asleep is an arm encircling his shoulders.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Now we get to the WHUMP </p><p>*warning for mild mention of vomiting</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Snufkin wakes, the first thing he notices is that the headache has not gone away. It’s still pulsing in his temples, sharper than yesterday. The light filtering through the canvas walls of the tent seems very bright. He doesn’t remember crawling into his tent last night. He was with Moomintroll, talking, and then…</p><p>Ah. Moomintroll must have put him in his tent after he’d fallen asleep. A blush crawls into his cheeks at the thought. It’s a bit embarrassing, but very sweet at the same time.</p><p>He rolls over and feels…damp. Sweat plasters his shirt to his chest and beads at his hairline. It isn’t unusual for him to wake feeling uncomfortably warm in the summer, but this isn’t like that at all. He feels almost cold, if anything. It must be the concussion still messing with his brain. The feeling will leave once he gets moving and eats something.</p><p>Sitting up has him groaning and hunching over to cradle his head in his hands in a desperate attempt to soothe the sharp pain that flares up with the movement. Definitely the concussion, then. Perhaps he will go up to Moominhouse to ice his head today after all. He still aches all over, the pain having settled in his very bones overnight. His ribs complain loudly and the entirety of his thigh throbs.</p><p>How disappointing. He really thought he’d feel better today, after being fussed over so much. It’s going to be very hard to wait for his injuries to heal, to sit out on hikes and adventures and games while everyone has fun without him. But he’d just slow them down in his current state—if Moomintroll even let him participate at all.</p><p>He stands to exit his tent and cries out in surprise and pain when his bad leg gives beneath him. White hot pain spears through his thigh, making his head spin. He falls back on his rump and clutches the leg while more cold sweat breaks out on his back.</p><p>This is not good at all.</p><p>Once the pain is manageable again, he rolls up his pant leg and removes the bandage he’d wrapped around the wound. His stomach drops when he sees it—red, inflamed, leaking nasty fluid. His skin is hot to the touch. Infected, despite the fact that he’d cleaned it.</p><p>His mind races, trying to think of how he can fix this without letting anyone know about it. Maybe he can swipe some of Moominmamma’s salve without her noticing. Hopefully that will clear it up quickly. For now, he uses his canteen to pour water over the gash, hissing when it stings like fire, dabs it dry with the cleanest piece of fabric he owns, and wraps it tightly with new bandages. He’ll just have to tough it out and pray that no one notices the limp. He does have plenty excuse to sit as much as he can.</p><p>He pokes his head out of the tent flap to make sure no one is around before using his stick-crutch to hop outside, keeping all weight off of his leg. How he plans to catch and cook breakfast like this, he doesn’t know. For now, he sits by the cold fire-pit and starts to bait his fishing hook slowly.</p><p>The urge to crawl back into his tent and go back to sleep is worryingly strong.</p><p>“Snufkin!”</p><p>He very nearly groans at the voice. Of course, a quiet morning alone had been too much to hope for. When he turns, wincing a bit at the pull on his torso, he sees Snorkmaiden making her way towards him with a cloth-covered basket hanging from her arm.</p><p>Snufkin manages to quash down his irritation. It’s not really a fair reaction, and can probably be attributed to the pain he’s in. He does feel unusually on-edge.</p><p>“Good morning, Snorkmaiden,” he greets when she arrives at the campsite.</p><p>“Good morning.” Her smile is brighter and sunnier than the new day. “I came to bring you some breakfast and see how you are.”</p><p>“That’s very kind.”</p><p>She sets the basket next to him. “There are some fresh scones and porridge. I thought you might not be up to cooking your own breakfast.”</p><p>He smiles. “How thoughtful. Thank you.” He pulls back the cloth, and as soon as the aroma of food hits him, he realizes how <em>not </em>hungry he is. In fact it makes him feel a bit nauseous. But he doesn’t want to seem rude, so he takes out a scone and nibbles on it. “It’s very good.”</p><p>Snorkmaiden smiles again, looking pleased. “Are you feeling better today?”</p><p>“A little,” he lies.</p><p>“I’m so glad!” She tilts her head. “You look a bit pale, though, so get plenty of rest, okay?”</p><p>Snufkin nods. He’s relieved that she can’t read him as well as Moomintroll can, but her thoughtfulness makes him feel warm.</p><p>“Well. I’d better be going to help Moominmamma with the party cleanup, but let us know if you need anything, Snufkin.”</p><p>“I will. Thank you again, Snorkmaiden.”</p><p>He watches her leave, and as soon as she’s far enough away he puts the hardly touched scone back in the basket. It’s a shame; the food is surely delicious, but there’s an ominous churning in his stomach that makes him blanch at the thought of eating it. He briefly considers putting some coffee on, but even that doesn’t seem appealing.</p><p>His body feels heavy and tells him to lie down and sleep. His eyes travel up to the sky, and after he feels how the sun is beating down brightly but still doesn’t seem to warm him up on the inside, he decides to listen.</p>
<hr/><p>Moomin bounces on his feet as he watches Snorkmaiden make her way to the house. She’d stopped by earlier to tell him she was bringing Snufkin breakfast, and they’d thought it best to let her go alone so as not to overwhelm the mumrik. After getting him settled in his tent last night, Moomin had reluctantly returned home to go to bed and is now eagerly awaiting to hear about his friend’s condition.</p><p>It’s been hard resisting the urge to run out to see him. Mama had gently cautioned him to let Snufkin have plenty of space since he undoubtedly feels vulnerable right now, and while Moomin understands, he still feels a constant need to make sure he’s alright. If Snufkin were to suddenly leave the valley for some reason, Moomin would go out of his mind with worry.</p><p>It’s funny how he thinks of Snufkin like a stray cat that might bolt at any moment. He supposes that’s always been true, though.</p><p>Snorkmaiden opens the front door and walks inside.</p><p>“Well?” Moomin asks immediately.</p><p>“He seemed okay.” She tilts her head thoughtfully. “A bit pale and tired, though. I think it might be best to keep an eye on him for a little while. Or at least bring him a few meals. He shouldn’t have to strain himself while he’s still healing.”</p><p>“I agree.” Moomin looks ruefully out to the river where he can just make out Snufkin’s tent. “But I’m not sure he’d really appreciate it.”</p><p>“I don’t know, I think it might mean more to him than you expect.” She gives him that little knowing smile he’s come to see often. “And in any case, sometimes we need help even when we don’t want it.”</p><p>He sighs dramatically. “He certainly needs it. I just don’t want him to run off again.”</p><p>“I don’t think he will.” Her tail swishes around her legs. “Now, is Moominmamma in the kitchen? There’s a lot to do after the party.”</p><p>“Hm?” He looks away from the window towards her again. “Oh, yes, I think she’s washing the dishes.”</p><p>Snorkmaiden huffs with loving exasperation. “Snufkin is fine, love. Come on, I think your mother would like the help and you need to get your mind off of him.”</p><p>“I suppose you’re right,” Moomin says with another sigh, and follows her into the kitchen with his head hanging. He can’t shake this foreboding feeling inside, like he’s ignoring something important. It’s probably just his worrisome nature as it usually is. And Snorkmaiden is right. Snufkin is fine, and if he were to go see him now, he’d feel silly for letting himself get so anxious. But is it really wrong to worry so much?</p><p>All he knows for sure is that his mind will be much more at ease once he sees that Snufkin is alright with his own eyes. He’ll just…have to wait a bit.</p><p>He always has to wait a bit.</p><p>When the two of them enter the kitchen, Moominpappa looks up from his newspaper. “Good morning, Snorkmaiden.”</p><p>“Good morning, Moominpappa.”</p><p>“Is Snufkin doing better today?”</p><p>“I think so.” Snorkmaiden politely turns down the fruit that Mama offers and instead picks up a dish towel. “He said he was feeling better.”</p><p>“Glad to hear it,” Papa says. “Unfortunate thing, having a fall like that right before Midsummer.”</p><p>“Indeed, but if anyone can bounce back from it, Snufkin can,” Mama says from the sink.</p><p>“He is a scrappy fellow, isn’t he?”</p><p>Just then, Little My pops up from inside her teapot. “You all seem very sure that he’s a-okay.”</p><p>For some reason, the interjection stirs up anger inside Moomin. “What do you mean, Little My? Of course he is. Or at least he will be soon, once he’s healed up.”</p><p>As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wonders why he said them since he’d just been doubting the notion himself. But hearing someone else say it makes it seem much more real, like it isn’t just in his head.</p><p>“I don’t mean anything by it.” She climbs out of the pot and perches on the edge of the table. “But you know how he is better than anyone. If he wasn’t okay, do you think he’d say so?”</p><p>Moomin crosses his arms. “He’d tell me.” But it’s obvious even to himself that he doesn’t really believe that. His stomach twists with unease again and he can’t help but glance back towards the window. Through the kitchen doorway, all he can see are the treetops through the distant pane in the living room.</p><p>The matter is dropped after that. Moomin goes to help with the pile of dirty dishes left over from last night, halfway hoping that Snufkin will walk through the door at some point, but knowing deep down that he won’t.</p><p>Everyone lends a hand with the cleaning (except Little My, who spends most of the time inspecting Moomin’s work and declaring it to not be good enough, to do it over again). Dishes are washed and dried, leftover food is jarred and stored, and eventually they all end up outside to collect the chairs and tables and decorations. It only takes until noon before most of the work is done.</p><p>Somehow, even being bossed around by Little My isn’t enough to fully take Moomin’s mind off of his worry for Snufkin. He’s gathering up the last of the firewood to take to the cellar when he stills in his task, looking longingly over his shoulder and the campsite far down below. The rolling hills suddenly feel like a very long distance between Moominhouse and the river.</p><p>“Go on then, Moomintroll.”</p><p>“Huh?” He turns to see Snorkmaiden looking at him, her arms full with the large tablecloth.</p><p>“Snufkin. Go on and see him or you’ll be useless for the rest of the day. I’m sure he’d be glad to see you too.”</p><p>“Oh, you think so? I thought I ought to wait a bit more…”</p><p>She laughs like it’s a ridiculous idea. “I think you’ve waited long enough. I’m sure he’s expecting you.” She nods towards the river. “Go on. The cleanup’s almost done anyway. Then you can come join us for lunch.”</p><p>It’s all the encouragement he needs. He nods back and drops the firewood in the pile by the cellar door before rushing down the path to the bridge.  </p><p>His heart begins to beat quickly as he approaches. The ominous feeling returns, though it might just be nervousness.</p><p>When he reaches the campsite, he isn’t sure what he expects to find. But it definitely isn’t Snufkin curled up on the ground with his head resting against the log, fast asleep. Moomin stops at the sight of him. The knot in his chest tightens again. Honestly, he’s a bit surprised Snufkin is still at his camp at all—after last night, he would’ve expected him to be somewhere in the forest or maybe fishing in a more secluded spot, even with his injuries.</p><p>But he’s still here, sleeping.</p><p>Snufkin naps like the rest of them, but it’s usually on the grassy bank and never this early in the day. Worry curls in Moomin’s stomach before he tries to dismiss it once again. The mumrik must still be exhausted from his journey and his ordeal.</p><p>Moomin rounds the campfire to get a better look at the mumrik. He does look pale and tired, as Snorkmaiden said. His cheeks are flushed red, and there’s a look of discomfort on his features even in his sleep. Moomin frowns. Of course Snufkin is not really himself right now, but something about this picture feels distinctly off and he can’t shake the little warning bells telling him so.</p><p>It would be a smart thing to wake him and take him to Mama, just in case. Snufkin wouldn’t be happy about it. Moomin doesn’t know if it’s that or the fact that he doesn’t think he has the heart to wake him that makes him hesitant about it.</p><p>After weighing it for a few moments, he decides that Snufkin’s health comes first. He’s sure that, deep down, Snufkin would agree.</p><p>He kneels beside the sleeping mumrik and gently shakes him by the shoulder. “Snufkin.”</p><p>Snufkin’s brow furrows deeper and he groans softly, but doesn’t open his eyes.</p><p>Moomin shakes him a bit more firmly. “Snufkin, wake up.”</p><p>It takes longer than it should, but Snufkin’s brown eyes open slowly and when he looks up at Moomin, he appears very groggy and confused. “M’min…troll…?”</p><p>“Hello.” He smiles at his friend, but the grogginess worries him further. Snufkin is a light sleeper, so for him to be so out of it must mean that something is wrong. “Sorry to wake you, but I wanted to check that you were okay.”</p><p>The mumrik blinks dazedly before his head lolls back down. “M’okay. Just tired. Wanna sleep.”</p><p>“Would you come back to Moominhouse? It would do you good to rest in a proper bed.”</p><p>Lucidity is slowly coming back to his eyes, though he still looks rather sleepy. “No, thank you. I’d rather be here.”</p><p>Moomin sighs. He’d know that would be the answer, but it would make him feel a lot better if Snufkin were to be somewhere he could keep an eye on him. “Can I help you back to your tent, then? I can’t imagine sleeping on the ground is very good for your injuries.”</p><p>“S’fine, Moomintroll. I’m alright here.”</p><p>Moomin’s eyes roam over Snufkin’s face, taking in every detail—the dark shadows under his eyes, the bright redness in his cheeks, the little beads of sweat on his forehead, and of course the still very angry-looking gashes raked through his skin. His suspicion from yesterday about Snufkin hiding the severity of his injuries comes back to him and he begins to feel sick with worry all over again. It’s plain now that everything is not as alright as his friend would have him believe. “Snufkin, please. You look awful. Would it be so bad to come sleep in the house, just for a little while? Mama said you need to use the ice pack again anyway, and she can redress your cuts and then you can come right—”</p><p>He’s interrupted when Snufkin sits up abruptly. The vagabond doesn’t say anything but stares at the ground between his knees, eyes unfocused and clouded, and starts breathing heavily.</p><p>Moomin’s stomach somersaults. “Snufkin? What’s wrong?”</p><p>Snufkin doesn’t answer. His breathing gets faster and his paws clench around the fabric of his pants.</p><p>“Snufkin?” Moomin doesn’t think when he reaches out to touch his shoulder.</p><p>Then Snufkin lurches forward and begins to retch.</p><p>Moomin can do nothing but watch as he empties his stomach of its contents onto the ground, eyes wide. Shock freezes him in place, rendering him entirely useless as his friend struggles for breath and makes the worst noises Moomin has ever heard in his whole life.</p><p>It’s only when the shock begins to give way to fear that he finds his faculties again and moves his paw to rub circles into Snufkin’s back. The retching lasts much too long, and when it’s over Moomin’s heart is racing and his eyes are watering. Panic builds inside him rapidly, but he tries to keep his head for Snufkin’s sake.</p><p>He’s never seen Snufkin like this before. The last words he’d ever use to describe his friend are <em>helpless</em> and <em>weak</em>, but that’s exactly how he seems right now. When he finishes throwing up, he’s shaking and gasping and, if not for Moomin catching him, would’ve fallen over into the grass.</p><p>“Snufkin?” His voice is far more teary and scared than he wants it to be, but he’s so alarmed he can’t help it. “Oh, I <em>knew </em>you weren’t alright! I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you alone for so long. Is it your head? Mama said the symptoms might come back…” He wraps his arm around the mumrik’s shoulders tightly, holding up his limp body. “By my tail, you’re trembling. Snufkin, please, what’s wrong?”</p><p>Snufkin leans against him, still breathing heavily. “I…” His head droops and he heaves a large sigh. “I think I…I might be a bit ill.”</p><p>“A bit ill?” Moomin repeats incredulously. “You mean just like you had a <em>bit </em>of trouble?”</p><p>The vagabond coughs a little and groans miserably, an arm going up to hold his ribs.</p><p>Moomin’s brow creases. “What’s going on, Snufkin? Is this from your head wound?”</p><p>“No,” he grunts.</p><p>“Then…?” Moomin shakes his head, utterly confused and worried. “If you were feeling ill, why didn’t you <em>say</em> something?”</p><p>“I wasn’t, it’s…” He still seems dazed and like he’s in a tremendous amount of pain, and instead of explaining anything he reaches down to tap his right leg.</p><p>“Your leg? I don’t understand.”</p><p>He sighs again, looking more exhausted than Moomin has ever seen him. His head lies weakly on Moomin’s shoulder. “Blood poisoning.”</p><p>Moomin’s heart drops straight to his feet. Without a word, he steadies Snufkin against the log and kneels beside him, his paws making quick work of rolling up his pant leg. Underneath, there’s a shoddy bandage wrapped around his thigh. A few small flecks of fresh blood stain the fabric. He looks up at Snufkin, tears coming back to his eyes as his chest feels like it’s being squeezed. “Your leg’s been hurt this whole time?”</p><p>Snufkin nods tiredly.</p><p>Moomin feels a tidal wave of many emotions, then, anger and hurt being among the more noticeable. But his fully-realized worry is by far the strongest, to the point of being almost all-consuming, and there isn’t time to think about his emotions right now. All of that can be sorted through later, when Snufkin’s been taken care of.</p><p>He begins to unwrap the bandage, but Snufkin’s paw covers his, halting him. “Don’t look. It isn’t…a pretty picture.”</p><p>When Moomin looks up again, Snufkin’s eyes are staring straight at him, bright and pleading and Moomin’s heart feels like it’s shattering. He can’t do it when his best friend is looking at him like that. So he secures the bandage again and pulls his pant leg back down. “You didn’t tell me.”</p><p>“M’sorry, Moomintroll.” He blinks heavily, head drooping to the point that his mouth is obscured by his scarf. “I thought I could… I thought…”</p><p>“Stay awake.” Moomin reaches up to pat his face. “Can’t have you falling asleep before—” His eyes widen suddenly. There’s heat under his paw that he wasn’t expecting, searing and intense. He feels around the mumrik’s skin, his cheek and then his forehead, but the heat is everywhere. “Snufkin, you have a fever.”</p><p>“Oh.” He breathes out what might be an attempt at a laugh. “That makes sense.”</p><p>“You’re burning up!” His heart really can’t take much more of this. “How long have you been like this?”</p><p>“I’m not…too sure.”</p><p>Moomin stands with a new sense of urgency. He’s allowed them to sit here far too long. “We have to get you to Mama right now.”</p><p>Snufkin looks up at him, his gaze unfocused. For a few seconds he only stares, and then nods slowly.</p><p>And out of everything that’s happened, his ready submission to receive care is what worries Moomin the most. He can’t remember a time he was more frightened than right now, even as he puts on a brave face and calls on every ounce of reserve he has. Snufkin has always been so strong and Moomin has relied on that strength so many times; now it’s his turn to be the strong one. He refuses to fail. “Can you stand?”</p><p>Snufkin starts to push himself up. Moomin quickly reaches down to take his elbow and steadies him as he rises, still shivering and looking terribly unstable. When he puts weight on his injured leg, he cries out and stumbles into Moomin’s chest.   </p><p>“Right.” Moomin braces himself and scoops the mumrik up into his arms, concern surging through him at just how easy he is to lift.</p><p>He had expected some sort of resistance, but Snufkin just buries his head into his shoulder.</p><p>“You alright, Snufkin?”</p><p>“…Dizzy.”</p><p>Moomin’s brow furrows. He shifts Snufkin in his arms to get a better grip on him, feeling the heat of his fever even through his clothes, and starts off at an urgent pace towards Moominhouse.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks again for reading!! I’d love to know your thoughts!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bumping up the chapter count! I think the next one will be the last. </p><p>Hope you enjoy!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Snufkin would almost be rocked to sleep in Moomintroll’s arms if it wasn’t for the jostling making his head feel like it would split open at any second. The world rocks and spins like the deck of a ship on the sea. He would very much like to have gone on sleeping, but judging by the naked panic in Moomintroll’s every word and action, perhaps it’s best that he didn’t.</p><p>He isn’t sure what to think. His mind feels sluggish and hazy, and that isn’t something he’s experienced a lot in his life. It’s a bit unsettling, to suddenly find that he doesn’t know which direction the forest is or what time of day it is or even exactly what his friend is so worried about. Thoughts slip from him like newly caught fish. Soon it becomes too much trouble to try to hold onto anything, so he lets his eyes close to the blur of colors and figures the world has become and instead focuses on willing away the nausea that’s been turning his insides for far too long.</p><p>Then the world takes on another kind of chaos. The warm summer air is replaced with the staler, cooler air of the inside of a house, and Moomintroll’s soft fur becomes worn linen. The constant jostling stops and he feels himself become cradled steadily by a mattress. And suddenly there are paws all over him and voices raised in urgency on all sides and something insistently tapping his face prods him to open his eyes again.</p><p>He sees several faces at once, but Moominmamma’s unfocused image is right at the fore.</p><p>“Snufkin, dear, can you manage to drink something? You can sleep soon but I need you to take this first.”</p><p>Snufkin couldn’t say no regardless, because he’s immediately being lifted up and the lip of cup pressed to his mouth. Bitter liquid coats his tongue and if he’d had any strength, he might’ve spit it out. As it is, he manages to get most of it down before it causes him to sputter and cough.</p><p>“Very good, sweetheart.” He feels fingers comb through his hair and there’s a shifting of fabric. “Moomintroll, could you go down and fill a basin with cool water? And bring a cloth; we need to cool his temperature.”</p><p>Snufkin doesn’t hear Moomintroll’s response, but there is a sound of feet scampering out of the room and things feel much calmer after. Moominmamma’s paw continues petting through his hair.</p><p>“Snufkin?”</p><p>He drags his eyes open, a bit alarmed when he realizes he doesn’t remember closing them.</p><p>“Can you tell me how you got blood poisoning?” There isn’t an ounce of accusation in her voice, unlike Moomintroll’s, but Snufkin feels guilt roll through his gut anyway. Her gaze is so gentle and warm.</p><p>“Cut my leg on the tree,” he mutters. “Cleaned it, though. I didn’t know…”</p><p>“Shh, that’s alright. You don’t have to explain.” The back of her paw rests on his forehead. “I’ll have to take care of it, and it might be painful, but you can rest now. You’re alright.”</p><p>Her presence feels so safe and warm, like the late afternoon sun. It’s rather easy to let himself fall asleep, secure in the knowledge that people who love him are right there, looking out for him.</p><hr/><p>When he wakes up again, he’s too dizzy to comprehend anything going on. His body seems far away, and completely left to its own devices, his stomach seizes and wrings itself out, ridding it of any medicines or tea or food that had been in it. The air buzzes with panic and hurried movement. He’s swept up in heat and haze and dreadful confusion.</p><p>The only thing he can make sense of is a very familiar voice calling his name, a very familiar presence that’s all-encompassing. He leans into it eagerly.</p><hr/><p>There had been one time, a few winters ago, when Snufkin had found a marvelous pond. It was in the south, somewhere, and the weather had been warm and the water was so still that the surface looked like glass, so he’d naturally gone for a swim. He’d slipped in as gently as possible and ducked down below. He remembers sitting at the shallow bottom of the pool and looking up at the sky and the trees, the colors of the sunset all blurred together and rippling in a way that made the world seem superbly surreal. With the sound being muted and distorted underwater, it was very much like being awake during a dream.</p><p>He feels that way now, in a sense, though it’s not nearly as peaceful or calming. He also can’t seem to pull himself out of it. He feels hot and cold at the same time, and his body itches in a strange way. Images and colors blur and warp into one another, nothing makes sense, and his head feels like it’s stuffed so full of wool that it’s hard to hear and impossible to think.</p><p>These bouts of almost-wakefulness don’t come very often, or for long, as far as he can tell. He’ll open his eyes long enough to register the shifting, shimmering images and distorted sounds that might be voices and sometimes there are tastes and textures in his mouth, but it all seems very far away and it usually doesn’t take long before his eyes become unbearably heavy and he slips into deep, black sleep.</p><p>Some distant part of his consciousness does not like its current state at all. It feels off, feels <em>wrong</em>, but Snufkin can’t worry about it now. He’s so tired and heavy. His body needs to deal with overcoming this before his mind can catch up to anything else.</p><p>There is one time when he opens his eyes and the world makes just a bit more sense. The sight before him is one he can recognize—Moomintroll, sitting in a chair. He can tell it’s Moomintroll because he can see his eyes clearly; as blue and bright as the sky on a clear summer day. They’re looking at him earnestly.</p><p>“Snufkin?”</p><p>He can hear the word, though his brain is having trouble attaching any meaning to it. He blinks owlishly and continues to stare at his friend. He could not react even if he wanted to and, as it is, responding at all does not occur to him. He might be dreaming. It’s impossible to tell.</p><p>After a few moments, Moomintroll’s face falls and he looks incredibly sad and weary. Snufkin distantly feels a soft paw smooth over his forehead and hair. “That’s alright. You just rest now. You’ll get better soon.”</p><p>Moomintroll’s paw carding through his hair is the first pleasant thing he’s felt in a long time. His head leans into it and he lets his eyes fall shut again. The scent of lavender soap and honey carries him into a much more peaceful sleep.</p><hr/><p>It’s been three days. Three days since Moomin had carried Snufkin to Moominhouse while he shook and burned with fever, and they’d tucked him into the guest room bed and started taking turns watching him. None of them have slept all the way through the night since, but Moomin can hardly bring himself to care about how tired he is. He would gladly sit with Snufkin round the clock if Mama and Papa would let him.</p><p>He doesn’t sleep very well as it is. His brain is too full of thoughts, his heart too full of emotion.</p><p>Snufkin is in a very bad way. No one has said it outright, but it’s obvious in the way that Mama and Papa sometimes talk quietly to themselves outside of the guest room where Moomin can’t quite hear what they’re saying, and how Mama seems uncharacteristically worried. A dark cloud seems to have settled over the house.</p><p>Moomin can’t get the sight of Snufkin’s wound out of his head. When he’d brought him back, they’d immediately laid him on the bed and uncovered his leg to get an idea of just what they were dealing with. Now Moomin wishes he’d obeyed Snufkin’s request for him not look. That it wasn’t pretty was an understatement—the wound ran almost the entire length of his thigh and was surrounded by awful bruising, but worse than that was the way it was angry and swollen with infection. He’d never seen Moominmamma so thrown by anything before.</p><p>“He should’ve let me treat this too,” she’d said ruefully. “I don’t know that it wouldn’t have gotten septic, but at least it wouldn’t have come to this.”</p><p>“Why didn’t he say anything?” Moomin had asked.</p><p>“I’d imagine he didn’t want us to worry, dear.”</p><p>Moomin’s head had drooped. “Lot of good that did.”</p><p>Mama put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Snufkin is a private person, Moomintroll. We should try to understand what he must have been feeling.”</p><p>And Moomin had tried, really. It isn’t surprising he’d kept the worst of his injuries a secret, but Moomin still can’t shake the sense of hurt and betrayal, especially when he’s the one who has to look at the consequences of such a secret and be eaten up with worry over what it’s done to his best friend. If Snufkin had just <em>told </em>him, none of this would have happened.</p><p>But there wasn’t much to be done about it, so Moomin had resolved to set the matter aside until he could talk to Snufkin.</p><p>Who knows when that will be, though?</p><p>Snufkin has been in and out of sleep, but has yet to really wake up. Sometimes he stirs just long enough to evacuate whatever they’d managed to get into his stomach, and sometimes he wakes for seemingly no reason at all. Every time he opens his eyes Moomin hopes he’ll be coherent, yet every time he’s only met with a blank stare. The glassy, unseeing look in Snufkin’s eyes always sends a chill right down Moomin’s spine. It’s hard to believe that this listless, bedridden body is the shell of the boy who’s hiked and fished and played with him so many times, who’s led him on adventures he could only dream of and who has the power to make his stomach flutter with a mere touch. Moomin never in his life dreamed that he’d ever Snufkin in such a state.</p><p>He’s sitting at the bedside on that second afternoon with a book in his paws, eyes staring at the page but not seeing anything but a mess of jumbled letters. He’s much more in-tune to Snufkin’s soft, raspy breathing. It’s a sunny day outside and the window is open to let in the breeze—Mama says the fresh air will do both of them good, and Moomin certainly isn’t in the mood to leave the house to play.</p><p>Eventually, he finds his gaze wandering up from the book and to his friend again. It’s hard to tell if there’s been any improvement. He looks much the same, exhausted and pale, flushed with fever. The wounds on his face are starting to look better, and today he seems to have managed keeping down the medicine and water Mama coaxed into him, but those are the only signs that his body is healing itself at all.</p><p>Dread has been sitting like a rock in Moomin’s gut for days now, fear growing like a wildfire. It’s as if his whole world has been rocked so badly that he doesn’t know if it can be righted again. One could say it’s an overreaction, since this is hardly the first time his life has been upended, but this feels different than floods or eruptions. Nature changes all the time. He’s learning to grow used to that. But Snufkin… Snufkin has always been a constant. He comes and goes like the tide, but he always returns to the valley like a ship to a harbor. And when he’s here, Moomin feels a sense of comfort that he can’t quite describe. It’s like the feeling of the last piece of a puzzle being put into place and making one whole, beautiful picture. If that piece were to ever be lost…</p><p>Moomin’s fingers tremble where they hold the book. It’s unthinkable, so he hasn’t allowed himself to think of it, but he’s not stupid. He knows what the dark, worried glances mean that Mama and Papa give each other when they think he’s not looking. Snufkin has always been so full of life, that to see him like this makes it so very obvious how much of it has drained from him.</p><p>The door opens then and Moomin wipes the blurriness away from his eyes.</p><p>“I’ve brought you some tea, dear,” Mama says. When Moomin looks up, he sees she’s brought more than that. Her medical supplies are also stacked on the tray, which means it’s time to clean Snufkin’s wounds again.</p><p>Moomin sets his book aside to accept the teacup and mumbles a thank you. Mama strokes his cheek comfortingly and gives him a sad smile.</p><p>He watches her as she pulls back the bedclothes and begins work on Snufkin’s leg, but still can’t bring himself to look at the wound again. Mama hums cheerfully as she works, smearing a honey and herb mixture on fresh bandages, but it sounds a bit forced. She doesn’t react to the sight of it, and Moomin doesn’t ask if it looks any better for fear of the answer. Once it’s wrapped again, she moves on to tend to his ribs and head, stopping to check his fever. Nothing in her mannerisms give Moomin any hope of good news.</p><p>The ball of dread in his gut gets heavier.</p><p>“Mama…”</p><p>She looks over her shoulder when he hesitates, her kind eyes encouraging him to go on.</p><p>Moomin swallows and looks down at his tea. He can see his own worried expression in the amber surface. “You don’t think… I mean, he will get better, won’t he?”</p><p>She straightens and steps over to him, her paw once again smoothing over the fur of his cheek. “Of course he will, love. It’s only been three days; give him some more time. His body is under a lot of strain so we must be patient.”</p><p>That reassurances helps a bit. It has felt a lot longer than three days, and patience isn’t his strongest suit. But it’s more than that, really, because he can’t dismiss the foreboding feeling hanging overhead.</p><p>Even Little My has been uncharacteristically calm. All of his friends have stopped by at some point or other, to bring get-well presents and notes, but none have gone up to see Snufkin since there isn’t much reason while he’s still asleep. Little My has been the exception. Apart from living in the house, she’d naturally wanted to check in on her brother though she didn’t say as much. The first time she’d approached his sickbed, she’d gone strangely quiet. There was a muttered remark about how foolish he was to have let this happen, but the look in her eyes haunts Moomin almost as much as Snufkin so lifeless and still. She had been spending the last few days mostly lounging about the house and half-heartedly entertaining herself with old toys or trinkets found in forgotten cabinets, but she doesn’t tease Moomin and hardly makes any scathing comments to anyone. She’ll sometimes disappear outside, but never for very long, as if she can’t find whatever she might have been looking for.</p><p>It’s a shock, then, when her voice pipes up from the doorway. “Well? How is he, then?”</p><p>When Moomin turns, she’s leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed, looking as mildly annoyed as ever.</p><p>Mama doesn’t look up from where she’s placing a dampened cloth on his forehead. “He’s still very tired because he’s fighting very hard. But I would guess that he’ll be waking soon.”</p><p>“He’d better. I’ve never seen everyone so depressed.”</p><p>Calmly, Mama begins to gather her supplies again. “Maybe you all could do something nice for him, to help him wake up faster. I’m sure he wouldn’t be pleased to see everyone sitting around all day.”</p><p>Moomin’s ears perk up at that. It would be a welcome change to actually do something to help.</p><p>“Something nice for him?” Little My pushes herself off the wall and places her hands on her hips. “Like what? He’s practically a vegetable.”</p><p>“Something like…” Moomin looks down to the floor, thinking hard. When his gaze lifts to the open window, he sees the garden outside and an idea strikes. “Flowers! He doesn’t like to be indoors, so maybe if we put enough flowers in the room, it would help it to feel more like the outside.”</p><p>Little My stares at him with a raised brow the way she does when she thinks he’s being especially dull. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in weeks.” She huffs then in a resigned sort of way. “But it looks like it’ll do more for you than him. Alright, let’s go pick some flowers.”</p><p>Rushing outside behind her, Moomin feels like things are the most normal they have been since Snufkin returned from his trip. Working to an end helps his mood lift considerably, and even if it doesn’t help Snufkin, anything that can be done is better than nothing at all.</p><hr/><p>Moomin doesn’t notice the summer heat as he takes Mama’s gardening shears to another stem. They’d gone to the meadows to gather wildflowers, and he almost has a whole basket-full. Little My has about the same amount.</p><p>They’ve been working for nearly half and hour before he hears voices approaching.</p><p>“What are you both doing out here?”</p><p>Moomin looks up from trimming a wild daisy to see Snorkmaiden and Sniff wading through the tall grass. “We’re picking flowers for Snufkin.”</p><p>“Oh?” Sniff’s expression lights up a bit. “Has he woken up?”</p><p>“I’m afraid not.” Moomin wipes his wrist across his forehead. “But when he does, he should have a lot of flowers. To remind him of the outdoors.”</p><p>“Oh, what a lovely idea!” Snorkmaiden says.</p><p>Moomin throws a smug grin at Little My, who just rolls her eyes.</p><p>“Come on, Sniff.” Snorkmaiden pulls his arm by the wrist. “Let’s help too.”</p><p>Sniff says something about it being too hot, but doesn’t leave and begins plucking flowers as eagerly as the rest of them. Moomin smiles to himself. <em>I wonder if Snufkin knows how much everyone cares. </em></p><p>They pick a lot of flowers. Between the four of them, they’ve got nearly a whole garden to take back to the room by the end of the afternoon. Mama gives them all her vases, but they end up putting some flowers in kettles and pots and cups too. Moomin takes great care in setting them all about Snufkin’s room—some on the night table, some on the windowsill, on the dresser and floor. The little space certainly smells like a garden by the time he’s finished.</p><p>“It’s beautiful, Moomintroll,” Mama says as the stand in the doorway and admire the work.</p><p>Papa places a paw on Moomin’s shoulder. “Snufkin will love it. I’m sure he’ll be awake to enjoy it soon.”</p><p>Moomin certainly hopes so. The knot of anxiety loosened a bit while he was working, but it still sits tangled and tight in the center of his stomach.</p><p>After his parents have gone down to supper, he sits on the stool by the bed and takes Snufkin’s limp paw in his own. “Please get better soon, Snufkin. You have to. Everyone is so worried—the valley isn’t the same without you.” Then, suddenly, he thinks better of his words and even though he’s fairly certain they’re falling on deaf ears, he needs to rectify them. “But take your time, of course. We’re all waiting on you, but no matter how long we have to wait, we’ll be here all the while. I’ll be here when you come back, I promise. Just…please come back.”</p><hr/><p>When the first flower dies, Moomin thinks his heart is dying with it. It’s one of the daisies he’d picked and set on the night table. He comes in one morning—early, before Mama has prepared breakfast—and notices a few petals had fallen during the night.</p><p>And still Snufkin lies there, unaware of the life that’s inevitably starting to fade around him.</p><p>Moomin quickly gathers up the petals and feels like he’s going to suffocate. His chest is caving in, it <em>must </em>be, because he suddenly can’t take in much breath at all. It’s a terrible thing, to cry before breakfast.</p><hr/><p>The next time Snufkin opens his eyes, he’s in a barren field. The sun hangs low overhead, huge and sweltering and not the kind of sun that lulls one into a pleasant nap on a summer afternoon. This is the kind that means to dry out any life that dares try to spring up under it.</p><p>His mouth is stale and puckered and he sways under such oppressive heat, unable to muster a drop of sweat. His hat is gone and his pockets are empty. The plants are all dead—browned husks that have long since surrendered their moisture and wilted away to corpses that rustle with the hot wind. There are no birds, no insects crawling around.</p><p>He’s walking, but he doesn’t know where. There must be <em>somewhere </em>in the rippling expanse of grey land that lies beyond this desert full of ghosts where he can find shade and water and a friendly face. Somehow, he knows he’s the only living creature for miles and miles and feels awfully, terribly alone. If he doesn’t make it through this wasteland, the sun will burn up his skin and bleach his bones until he’s completely unrecognizable.</p><p>He has no strength. He watches his feet as one steps in front of the other, but they’re slowing and something far heavier than gravity seems to pull him towards the dusty ground. If he falls, he has a horrible inkling he won’t be getting up again.</p><p>And then, as his eyes stare sullenly at the dirt, a fissure appears in the earth between his boots. It stretches before and behind him, zigzagging like a lightning bolt through the sky. He tries to pull himself to one side, but his body doesn’t obey and can only stand entirely helpless as the fissure widens underneath him. The ground rumbles and cracks deafeningly, and suddenly the world is quaking and Snufkin can no longer keep his balance.</p><p>He falls into the black canyon that’s opened under his feet and the earth swallows him up with no effort at all.</p><hr/><p>Flashes of memory play before him in the dark. The path through the woods painted by autumn and dusted with the first snowfall; the corner of a letter peeking out from the post box, waiting to be noticed; Moomintroll waving down from his window; his friends laughing and running through rolling hills; his own paws on Moomintroll’s around a fishing pole as he teaches him a new way of casting a line.</p><p>His heart aches. He reaches for the images from the pitch-black abyss he finds himself floating in, and Moomintroll’s smiling face appears just before he touches it. As soon as his hand makes contact, the sight ripples like water and ebbs away into the darkness, leaving him alone once more.</p><p>“Moomintroll,” he whispers, a longing like he’s never known yawning in his chest so widely he thinks it will consume him. “Come back, please.”</p><p>For a few terrifying moments, there is absolutely nothing. No sounds, no sights, no sensation at all. Snufkin feels numb and hollow. All his life, he’s been the one to come back to people, to find them again after going away.</p><p>Now, for the first time in his memory, he desperately wishes someone would come find him instead.</p><p>No sooner had the thought entered his head than a sound begins to echo from somewhere in the blackness. It’s difficult to make out at first, but he listens carefully and soon knows exactly what it is before he can even decipher any words.</p><p>It’s Moomintroll’s voice, so familiar and wonderful that tears fill Snufkin’s eyes without warning. He turns around in circles, searching for his best friend, but can’t see him anywhere.</p><p>“We’re all waiting on you, Snufkin,” his voice says.</p><p>“But I haven’t gone anywhere,” he answers.</p><p>“No matter how long we have to wait, we’ll be here.”</p><p>Snufkin starts to run, and suddenly feels frantic. “Where are you, Moomintroll?”</p><p>“I’ll be here when you come back, I promise.”</p><p>“Where is here?” Snufkin shouts, becoming quite desperate now. “Where have I gone?”</p><p>“Just…please come back.”</p><p>Another memory stirs up, then, and this time he sees himself in it. The two of them sitting on the bank of the stream, their fur rustling in the summer breeze. His paw is on Moomintroll’s knee and there’s a soft look on his face as he says, “I’ll always be alright, and I’ll always return. I promise.”</p><p>And then it blows away like a vapor in the wind.</p><p>Snufkin wipes the tears from his eyes. Perhaps he has gone away somewhere, after all.</p><p>“I’m coming, Moomintroll. You needn’t wait long.”</p>
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